[Intro]
Check, check

[Grand Puba]
First batter up, first-first batter up

[Verse 1: ?]
Now, enterin' the batter's box
Is a guy who wears Champion socks and likes rings with rocks
Throw up my middle finger to the umpire
‘Cause n***as just choosin' the new talent just need to retire
Check the signals from my manager, the first base coach
He's throwin' signs, tellin' me the label's just playin' cutthroat
Yo, I hit him with a tape or should I say I take a check swing?
I hear the crowd sing, go meet Plug, and the telephone ring
He says I need more beats—wait a minute—no doubt
My temper runs out. Three pitches later, I strike the fuck out
Yo, shit like this happens to the real MC's
Because the labels wanna sign up the commercial wannabes
And if, it ain't that, it's just a little bit more, sayin'
“Umm, can you put on a screwface and scream lyrics that's hardcore?”
I adore this whole rap persona
But some of you A&R's must be mixin' coke witcha marijuana
Talkin', “Oooh, he got the new shit.”
I'm on his dick but that's an MC that come out with one bangin' hit.”
I split atoms, blow up as if I was atomic
Labels talk so much shit, yo, I laugh at them like they was comics
Check the scoreboard—we're up by one
Two more hitters to go, and the song ain't even done, baseball
[Hook: Grand Puba]
First batter up, well, here's the pitch, that's a curve
Second batter up because the first got served

First batter up, well, here's the pitch, that's a curve
Second batter up because the first got served

[Verse 2: Jean Grae]
From the kids in the batting cages to the pro players
To the labels and the mob in the bleachers makin' waves
Lookin' at the pitcher like, “Man, what gives?”
They got one-arm fugitives throwin' with prosthetic limbs
Look from the team to the umpire means that the
Man got demoted from stadiums to refereein' gyms
Synonyms from big cheese to the independent label
Couldn't pay up they debt, so they got cut like unpaid cable
B. E. I. S. B-O-L, accent on the “O.” GOALLLL!
Feel sweat tricklin' down the back of my neck
Tighten my grip on the bat, take a swing and it's a technical foul
Nah, that's basketball… Whatever, good call
How come when black men hit the field, they were throwin' bottles?
Now they throwin' million dollar deals?
When I steal bases, I do it with pride
For Jackie Robinson, certified—forerunner for us
Homeruns, we must hit 'em straight out the ballpark
I'm not patriotic, so I won't sing the National
Underlyin' stipulations playing underhanded ways
It pays to have your representative stay
Or you'll have top executives gettin' all possessive
With your money and it's not funny
But when loot is involved, all problems get solved
Umm, maybe because you supply they cocaine fetish
To finish this, this business ain't nothin' but corrupt
Forget all this garbage—I'd rather play tennis
[Hook: Grand Puba]
First batter up, well, here's the pitch, that's a curve
Second batter up because the first got served

First batter up, well, here's the pitch, that's a curve
Second batter up because the first got served

[Verse 3: Ocean]
Baseball was never for Blacks
It used to be a pastime for Whites
Now it has mad Puerto Ricans
But that's not the point of the song
The point of the song and I make it mad simple
When I be flippin' this script
Is that the industry is all over the mound
Pitchin' but nobody's makin' any hits—hmm
Baseball is not just a sport
It's the verbal, mental, physical, spiritual
Emotional level that we are on
It's about time that all you devils was gone
[?] like [Tron?]. I said it and meant it
If you cannot handle it, then for your ears it's not intended
You can play the documented, all athletes quoted
‘Cause when you speak to be exploited, then your spot will get exploded
Bases are loaded, but there is no RBI in the stadium
Where players try to be hard as titanium
I got your cranium movin' when I be showin' and provin'
Now you fear that your career is goin' down the tubes
And it'll be along with industry that's withering
And what’s left? Ocean’s about to blow to smithereens
I bring lyrical formats that you'll admire
And to the Hall of Fame I will go when I retire
They'll set your world afire. There is nobody to fear
When every umpire, A&R is screamin' that, “You’re outta here!”
And to your amazement, a tax write-off is your replacement
You gotta face it—there is no other crew adjacent
With sounds from the basement, we rise
We energize, to take over the whole enterprise
By now, you realize that when we're in the place
That we will come fat over piano and the bass
If you're lookin' for security, then you can end your chase
Come home to Negro League and you'll be safe
Baseball!
[Outro]
No doubt, Negro League is in the house
No doubt, no doubt, knockin' runs out
‘Cause we do it like this, we do it like that
I was rockin’ stage just like to a bat
Sent to home back when I be doing my thing
Hit a home run with the Negro League theme
Do it like this, do it like that
I was rockin' stage just like to a bat
Sent to home back when I be doing my thing
Hit the home run with the Negro League swing